


a bitter glory

by poisonandink



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Illnesses, M/M, Same Sex Pairs Skating, Slow Burn, Swan Lake Allusions, pairs skating au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24195169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonandink/pseuds/poisonandink
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov is at the peak of his career, having redeemed the name of Russian pairs skating, but all that gold won't protect him from the truths that haunt him. Enter Yuuri Katsuki, a late-blooming Japanese skater torn between his heart and his duties. Sometimes, when backed into a corner, athletes can act completely unexpectedly.A story about the debts we owe each other, the sacrifices we make, and the meaning of glory.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	a bitter glory

_If I can't have love, if I can't find peace,_

_Give me a bitter glory._

—Anna Akhmatova

* * *

_Russian pairs skaters Viktor Nikiforov and Anna Sokolova to part ways_

_By Karen Harris_

_April 10th, 2016_

_In a shocking turn of events, Russia’s top pairs skating team has announced their decision to part ways. Viktor Nikiforov and Anna Sokolova recently won their second world title in Boston last week, cementing their dominant streak. The split marks an end to a six-year partnership, during which they won two national championships, several Grand Prix titles, and Russia's first pairs gold in over a decade at the 2014 Sochi Olympics._

_Twenty-seven year old Sokolova’s status is currently unknown. Nikiforov, twenty-five, is rumored to be searching for a new partner. Neither would respond to requests for comment._

_Skating fans had expected the duo to continue their partnership until the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics. The pair was known for their turbulent relationship, both on and off the ice, wowing crowds with passionate programs and even more heated arguments._

_[read more]_

* * *

**Yakov** now

Missed call (5)

slide to call

 **Your (least) Favorite Partner** 57m ago

Fuck you. 

slide to reply

 **Your (least) Favorite Partner** 58m ago

You’re a real piece of shit, Nikiforov. I never thought you would stoop this low.

slide to reply

 **Your (least) Favorite Partner** 58m ago

Missed call. 

slide to call

 **Your (least) Favorite Partner** 59m ago

What the fuck Viktor. Pick. Up. My. Call.

slide to reply

 **Your (least) Favorite Partner** 1h ago

Missed call (2)

slide to call

 _Thunk._ His phone smashes into the wall and clatters to the ground, glowing screen fading to black before Yakov can call again. Viktor sighs, running his hands through silver hair. He’ll probably need to buy a new one. For now, the damage is worth it, even if for just a few moments of silence.

Six years. Six years of pleasing _everyone_. Viktor is so tired of it all—Anna, the fans, the media, the sponsors, the Russian Federation and their damned bureaucracy, the constant pressure to win, to bring back gold, the expectations that they _would_ win, being crowned victors before they even stepped foot on the ice. Once he would have taken it all and flown with it, always intent on surprising the audience, but what were once wings are now heavy weights. (He’s played the sheep for so long. What can he do but answer when the wolf calls?)

Anna will never forgive him. It was a cruel move, unnecessarily so, and he knows it. He still doesn’t regret it.

Viktor sinks back into bed. He’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow—and tomorrow, and tomorrow. For now, he sleeps and dreams of swans.

* * *

_June 2016_

"This doesn't have to be the end."

The sun refracts off the ice in Hasetsu Ice Castle, a million glittering shards dancing off the walls of the rink. Yuuri propels himself forward, his blades cutting a deep curve into the ice before he launches himself backwards—

one, two, three, four revolutions—

and he crashes back to gravity, his right ankle absorbing the impact of the landing. It’s too much. His ankle buckles under the pressure and before he knows it the ice is rushing up to meet him. Something like failure weighs heavy on his chest.

“My family wants me to retire.”

“Yuuri.” Yuuko’s standing before him now, her lips pursed in a heavy line when he looks up to face her. “Don’t say that. They’ve always been supportive. It’s your choice whether you retire. They only want the best for you.”

He pushes himself back up onto his feet, ignoring her outstretched hands. It’s too hard to meet her eyes so he fixates on a distant point instead, the white of the rink blending into the ice; it’s blinding, dizzying. “But they shouldn't. I owe it to them—they've given me so much. How can I keep selfishly demanding that they keep making sacrifices? Especially now, after Alex is retired?” 

The words come out as a whisper—it’s not a statement, but not a question either, spoken with the half-certainty that’s defined his skating recently. 

Yuuko doesn’t reply for several long minutes. The only sound filling the space is the scratch of her blades as she draws lazy figures on the surface of the ice. Then she stops suddenly, skates over to the sound system and plugs in her phone; the beginning of a familiar melody echoes through the rink.

“Do you still remember the routine?” 

How could he not? It’s the one they won the Junior World Championships with, over seven years ago. Yuuri stretches out his hand, waiting for her to join him, but Yuuko merely smiles and shakes her head. 

“Just skate it like you want to,” she tells him, rewinding the song back to its first notes. 

So he does.

It's a simple refrain, the same solitary notes repeated over and over, building upon itself. He glides to his left, hand outstretched as though reaching out for an invisible partner, curving in on the edge as he comes face to face with them. Hands grasping his, one placed on the small of his back, the other caressing his hair. It's so easy to visualize that blank space being filled. He can almost see the imprint of a thousand other skaters, of a thousand other futures, the siren call of the ice given shape and form. A triple loop here, where there would be a throw jump. The landing is shaky but he hardly notices, feeling only the unadulterated joy as he takes flight. The music crescendos for a moment and he drops down with it. A triple axel, then, and he launches himself into a combination spin. The ice caresses him, its cold winds biting into his face as the world reduces to a blur. It's just him and the ice, him spinning around on an axis, forever orbiting this unreachable desire, this unspeakable longing. He reaches his arms out, moving up from his layback into a camel. The melody grows, its refrains echoing upon each other, and he whips into a y-spin. Another spin here, in the place of a twist lift, and he launches into the step sequence. 

The music changes—grows in urgency, and he mirrors it. It's quiet enough that he can hear his blades scratch across the ice, almost writing a new song as he performs chactows and turns. One turn has barely ended before he whips into the next, draws a circle across the ice as he lunges into an Ina Bauer. It's frantic, manic almost, the desperation of a jilted lover. He reaches for his partner and is met with empty space. Heartache, raw and unfiltered, and he practically throws himself into a triple axel, hydroblades out of the landing. He falls on the ice, sliding across it as he gives in to the last trembling notes crying out into the void before fading into silence.

Yuuri makes no move to get up. Here, he can almost ignore Yuuko's presence. He can linger in this dream for a little longer, where he can still skate, where maybe, just maybe, an Olympic gold is still in the stars. 

But all dreams must end, and their dreamers wake to a hostile sun. Yuuko skates over to him, stretching out a hand but she doesn't force him to take it. She's always been like this, knows how to handle him like a lost thing, all kind words and gentle choices. 

"That was beautiful, Yuuri. Can't you see? You still have so much more to give. Will you do me a favor and skate again? There's a show I need you to perform."

* * *

_April 2016_

"Your World pairs champion for 2016—from the Russian Federation, Anna Sokolova and Viktor Nikiforov!"

The last syllables are only just beginning to die when Anna darts out the gate. Her nails dig into Viktor's hand, sharp and vicious little things. He can already tell that the marks will take hours to fade.

The light is blinding. Anna's death grip provides a grounding presence as Viktor moves more on instinct than conscious will, body familiar with this old routine even as he struggles to see through the glare bouncing off the ice. It's bright, too bright. 

Scriabin's Op. 54 echoes through the rink as they take their bows. The trumpets blare harsh and discordant—fitting, he thinks, for this farce. 

"Viktor," Anna whispers fiercely, nails digging in insistently. He starts ever-so-slightly, and the applause crests over him. It's deafening. Enough to drown under. They're standing on the podium already. He has no recollection of stepping onto it but Anna is smiling and waving and he follows suit, blowing a kiss to the crowd. They go wild at the sight of it and he feels, rather than sees, the cameras panning in for a close-up. This will be all over the forums tomorrow. Viktor Nikiforov, Russia's golden boy, stealing the attention once again. One gold medal just wasn't enough—no, he had to have it all. 

And he has, hasn't he? One more world title to his name. Millions of skaters would die for this, but it's just another addition to his accomplishments, another medal set to gather dust. 

Anna glows in the spotlight. Her smile, for once, is genuine, crowing with pride. This means something to her. He remembers a time when they felt the same desperate hunger, that insatiable need for recognition, for validation.

Now, as he stands at the top, it all looks so small. He could fit the whole world in here—all thirty by sixty meters of it.

* * *

_June 2016_

Viktor Nikiforov is smaller in person.

It doesn't make him any less beautiful. Even now, with his sweat-slicked hair and dark bags, he's almost ethereal. He leaves such an impression on the ice, crafts an image that looms larger-than-life, but here, standing at the side of the rink, he's only human.

Yuuri knows this, of course, has learned it anew every time he's walked past the man at competitions, but it's striking nonetheless. Perhaps it's the harsh lighting that strips him bare. The lack of spectacle—no costumes, no makeup, just casual gym clothes that nonetheless drape artfully on Viktor's form. Or perhaps it's the complete absence of Anna Sokolova. Zeus without Hera is just a swan.

Mao stops suddenly. Yuuri falters, nearly stumbling into her, but a pair of hands reach out to steady him. He looks up, and the words of thanks fade instantly as he sees the body attached to these solid hands. It's Viktor himself, cold exterior morphed into mild concern. 

"Nikiforov-san will be your partner for the show," Mao tells him.

Yuuri's a hopeless case after that. 

They're saying something to each other, turning to address him once in awhile, but all he can do is stare and nod. The Viktor Nikiforov, Olympic gold medalist, two-time World champion, and winner of countless Grand Prix events, is to partner with him? 

For so long, the best he could do was exchange a few words with Sokolova-Nikiforov at competitions, all passing cordiality. Nothing more than sportsmanship, as he struggled to stay calm in the presence of legends. To be elevated to Viktor's partner, even if just for an ice show, is more than he'd ever dared to dream of, more than he deserves. Anyone would be a poor substitute for Anna Sokolova, but him? Surely Mao was playing a prank.

But Viktor smiles at him and there’s a fierce desperation in his eyes—it shatters his mask just a little bit; makes him touchable, makes him human. Mao smiles too, and says nothing. She doesn’t need to. It’s clear to them all, in that moment, that Yuuri is completely and utterly gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that I conceived of three years ago. I nurtured it for months, choreographed all of the corresponding programs, and plotted it out, but when the time came to write I hit a block. I came across my old drafts today and realized that what I'd written was actually decent.
> 
> The snippets here are excerpts from my drafts. If there's interest in it, I'd like to take a stab at properly writing this.


End file.
